


The Invasion

by Dreamflower



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of the Greenfields, Canon-Typical Violence, Eriador, Gen, Hobbit Muster, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Orcs, The Shire, The Shire history, brave Rangers, clever hobbits, mentions of orc cannibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamflower/pseuds/Dreamflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wounded and in peril of his life, a Ranger of the North carries a dire warning to the Shire: invasion!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> **B2MeM Challenge:** This prompt by lindahoyland: _Are the Rangers ever seen in the Shire? If so what do the Hobbits make of them? Do the Rangers ever openly help the Hobbits or have the Hobbits ever helped a sick or injured Ranger?_  
>  **Format:** format:multi-chapter  
>  **Genre:** genre:adventure, genre:gapfiller  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Violence and passing mentions of cannibalism among orcs  
>  **Characters:** Ranger OMC, various hobbits, Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took  
>  **Pairings:** Bandobras/OFC  
>  **Creators' Notes (optional):** This draws somewhat on my account of the Battle of Greenfields as recounted by Berilac Brandybuck in [Chapter 15 of "In the Court of the High King"](http://162.253.148.204/chapterview.asp?sid=6585&cid=31224)

  
  
  


The Invasion

  
  
Part 1  
  
_Early summer, T.A. 2747 (S.R. 1147_  
  
Hirluin carefully crept down the rocky outcropping where he had hidden in order to spy on the band of orcs he had been following. They had joined with a larger group, and from what he could glean, they were soon to meet up with yet another group, larger than both groups put together.  
  
It was what else he had heard of their plans that had him worried. It appeared that this bunch had a leader from Mount Gundabad, a huge orc named Golfimbul, who was luring followers with promises of juicy pickings in a fat little land to the West and South of their own barren lands. This posed a dilemma for Hirluin. If the group headed straight for the Shire at the pace they had been keeping, they would arrive at the Northern borders in a little over a month. By rights, he should notify his fellow Rangers of this danger. But with the orcs between him and the quickest route back to the nearest waystation, it would take him far too long. Not only that, but if the orcs should turn aside, he would have no way of knowing. Yet the innocent and peaceful folk of the Shire were in dire peril.  
  
The best he could come up with was to try and stay ahead of this horde of marauders, and arrive in time to give the Shire-folk time to flee or to hide. Their homes would be overrun, and their bounty stolen, but at least they would live to return and restore their homes eventually, for the orcs would not be happy in such an open land once they had plundered it. They would return back their bolt-holes in the mountains and the hobbits of the Shire could reclaim their own.  
  
One advantage he had was his mount. Belan was hardy and fast; the two of them could certainly outpace the orcs. These orcs had no wargs or even wolves; such mounts had been hard for them to come by in recent years. And no horses or ponies would bear any of the foul folk. He only needed to be sure of their route; it would do no good to come with warning if he could not tell the hobbits of where the orcs would enter their land.  
  
Belan waited for him in the small copse of shrubs and stunted trees that grew at the foot of the outcropping; he was a stallion, but of medium size, sturdily built. Unlike many stallions Hirluin had ridden in the past, he had a generally placid nature except when in battle (or near a mare in season). And he had a great heart, doing all that Hirluin had asked of him and more. The horse had been cropping at the meagre grass, unhindered by hobble or tether; he knew to stay where he'd been left. He looked up with a small "whuff!" of greeting. Hirluin patted him on the nose and mounted. He had a general idea of the way the enemy would be moving tonight. He would follow that path until moonrise, and then check to see if he was right. He could continue parallel with them for a while, until he knew for certain where their entry to the Shire would be. But he must be very careful not to be spotted.  
  
He rode for several hours, once needing to stop and hide briefly, when he heard orc scouts. He hoped he would not be found--having to kill a scout would alert them that an enemy was near-by. Luckily the first scout went ahead of him, but not to the side where Hirluin was, while the other went in an altogether opposite direction. Once he was sure they were gone, he rode on for nearly an hour more, when he saw the first scout returning. Once more he stopped, hiding in the shadows of a long hill. This time he stayed put for a long time, for this time the orc army caught up and passed him by. He was thankful to be downwind of them, for had they caught his scent, he would have been done for.  
  
They passed by about a furlong and a half to the north of his position. He wished he had Elf-sight, to get a better look at them and a more accurate count. He had estimated about a hundred and a score, but was not certain. Perhaps if he could find a better vantage point for watching he could take out the Dwarf-made spyglass he carried.  
  
As the last of them passed by, he started up again, moving a little farther to the south to avoid detection. Belan knew how to move quietly and Hirluin concentrated on not being seen. It was nerve-wracking. He'd done this before, but never for such an extended length of time.  
  
As dawn approached, he once more found a place where Belan could comfortably wait for him; a stand of junipers grew near a small streamlet. He knew he would need to rest before the day ended, but first he needed to make sure that the enemy were encamped in the area he expected them to be. Orcs hated the Sun, and would avoid daylight if they could. They also were not particularly fond of trees; they'd have found some rocky area as they had done before, if they could. Sure enough, a large stream, or perhaps some small nameless river, had worn a deep crevasse in the land. The orcs were hidden in its shade between a low cliff and the water. There were cracks that could even hold a few of them, though he saw no sight of a cave. He took out his spyglass and began counting. It looked like the leader had his own crude sort of tent, a sort of pavilion of crudely stitched hides, that hung over a framework of branches. It could only fit him, and his subordinates were perforce making do with what shade and shadow the cliff-face could offer them. At noon they would be exposed, to their discomfort, but by afternoon they would be sheltered by the slightly higher bank on the opposite side. Once the Sun went to her rest, they'd move on, though he was sure they'd be delayed in the fording, as this was not an especially low ford. Orcs were not natural swimmers.  
  
Hirluin decided to return to his horse. The two of them could easily swim across, and then he would find a safe place (or as safe as could be, under the circumstances) and get some sleep while he could. It would be another harrowing night of shadowing the foul creatures, and he would not be able to be alert if he did not at least get a few hours of sleep.  
  
For nearly over two weeks this was the pattern of his days; sometimes he was able to get well ahead of them, other times he was forced by the terrain to travel perilously close. Food was cold and consisted of dried meat and dried fruit, and what he could manage to forage as he moved. He could not risk a fire, nor could he risk hunting, for he could not waste his arrows, nor could he set snares that might be found by orc scouts.  
  
It was the lack of fresh meat that had slowed the orcs themselves. While they were predators, they were not clever. They relied on their sheer numbers and strength, which was no help to them when prey could hear them coming for miles. Nonetheless, it appeared that one evening they had managed to flush a boar. Hirluin watched them from the boughs of a tree, as they tried to corner and spear the enraged beast. It turned on them and managed to savage at least three of its hunters before it was finished off. Then there broke out the predictable quarrel over the spoils. In the end, there were nearly twenty fewer orcs in their ranks, and Hirluin knew the outcome of that--he left before the inevitable cannibalism began.  
  
When he rejoined his horse that night, he muttered grimly, "If they may only find a few more boar in these parts, I may not need to worry about an invasion of the Shire!"  
  
Belan snorted, as if in derision.  
  
The Ranger gave a dour snort of his own, that passed for a laugh with him. "I know. I cannot be so lucky!"  
  
Another few days, he thought, just a few more, and he could be sure enough of their entry to make a break and head straight out to the Shire with his warning. The orcs were behaving very predictably. There had been another fight recently, and he had seen Golfimbul himself strike the head from the troublemaker.  
  
But his own luck did not hold. It was entirely by accident that he came upon one of the scouts making water against a tree; their eyes happened to meet, and without hesitation, Hirluin put an arrow through its throat. But he had not realized this orc had a companion. It was Belan's whicker that alerted him, so that he was wounded, rather than killed by the other orc's spear. But the orc knew nothing of horses, and it was Belan's hooves that put an end to that orc.  
  
Hirluin turned his attention to the wound in his side; the spear had gashed him rather than piercing him, yet nonetheless the cut was deep and bleeding copiously. He would have to staunch it, and bind it well, lest a blood trail lead the rest of the orcs directly to him. Thankfully a nearby freshet, just a little trickle of a stream, flowed nearby. He washed the blood as well as he could, and bound it with his only clean shirt, tying it as tightly as he could. Ignoring the pain, he mounted Belan, and rode, rode hard to the West. After all the trouble he had gone to, he refused to die without delivering his warning.  
  
He knew that sooner or later the other orcs would miss those scouts. At best, they would think them deserters. At worst, they would be pursuing him. Best put as much distance as he could between him and them. He rode, barely conscious, until the Sun was well up. Then he dismounted, half falling, and dragged himself to a nearby tree, taking a long draught of water from his waterskin, before falling into oblivion.  
  
He rose, stiff and hurting while the Sun still was high in the sky. He was not up to mounting. Belan knelt and Hirluin dragged himself up to the horse's back. Once more they rode. He could not bring himself to do more than chew on some dried fruit and take an occasional sip of water. He was fairly sure that he was well ahead of the orcs, who must travel afoot while he was on horseback. He patted Belan's neck, and the bay tossed his head. "If I live to tell this tale, old fellow, you will be the hero of it, I am sure!"  
  
It was after the Moon had come up that he saw a welcome sight: the glitter of moonlight on the water, too wide for a stream--it was a river, and only one River flowed here: the Baranduin. Still, he had to ride some distance North before he found a ford, for he knew he was too weak to swim this time.  
  
As they splashed up onto the Western bank, Hirluin knew he could go no further now. But he had to find someone, anyone, to receive his message.  
  
TBC


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A farmer discovers a wounded trespasser with a dire warning for the Shire.

  
  


 

**The Invasion**

  
  
Part 2  
  
"Snakes and adders! What on earth is _that_?" The old farmer blinked and shook his head and then looked again. It was still there. "Dilly!" He shouted for his wife.  
  
She came out of the hole, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "What on earth are you making such a racket about, Hob Greenhand?"  
  
For answer, he merely pointed across his field in the direction of the Brandywine.  
  
"That's a mighty big pony," Dilly said, after a moment of staring, slack-jawed.  
  
"That's no pony, wife. That's a full-growed horse, if my eyes aren't a-lying to me."  
  
"A horse. Like the Big Folk ride. What's it doing in the Shire, I wonder." The horse was just standing there, not grazing or any such thing.  
  
"What I want to know is, where's the rider. See, it looks to be wearing a saddle."  
  
Hob stared for a few minutes more, just thinking. Then he squared up his shoulders and said, "You go back in the hole, Dilly, and bar the door. Don't open it unless you hear it's me, understand? I'm going to roust up the lads in the barn, and we'll go see what's going on."  
  
Dilly nodded, and headed reluctantly back into the hole. They were very isolated here, so close to the Northern bounds of the Shire. She wished their daughter Myrtle was still living at home, but she was off two years a-gone to apprentice to the healer in Long Cleeve.  
  
Hob waited until the door had shut behind his wife, before he headed to the barn to waken the two hired hobbits who slept in the loft. "Diccon! Hari! I need your help!"  
  
A few minutes later, armed with two pitchforks and a scythe, the three hobbits approached quietly through the turnip field, making next to no sound. But the breeze carried their scent to the horse, who raised his head with a snort. Still, he moved not an inch from where he stood, four legs planted firmly on the ground, as though he was guarding something.  
  
And he was. In front of him lay one of the Big Folk, sleeping, unconscious or dead, Farmer Greenhand could not tell. The horse looked at them warily, but made no threatening move. The Man moaned softly, the first indication any of them had that he was alive, and the horse gave a soft whicker and lowered his head to sniff him. Then the horse looked up again, directly at the hobbits, as though asking them for help.  
  
Farmer Greenhand looked at his companions. "I think as the horse wants us to help that Man," he said. "Maybe he was throwed, or fell off or something, but he needs help."  
  
Diccon and Hari exchanged a look, and Diccon said "But Mr. Hob, sir, what if that horse has a go at you?"  
  
He looked over at the horse, which once more nudged the unconscious Man with his nose and then looked up at the hobbits again. "I don't think he will. If he does, well, you'd better make yourselves scarce." He put down the pitchfork he was holding and slowly approached. "Nice horsey! Good horsey! You just stay right there and we'll help your master, we will..."  
  
The horse actually stepped back as Farmer Greenhand drew near, and gave another soft whinny. The hobbit knelt down to look at the injured Man, and gasped. He'd expected maybe a knot on the head from a fall. Instead he saw blood, both dried and fresh staining the leather tunic the Man had on. His face was ghastly pale, with dark rings beneath the eyes like bruises, and now Hob could see that he was feverish as well. The Man needed a healer! What a shame Myrtle wasn't to home! But Dilly could help some, and mayhap they could figure out what to do with him.  
  
He was about to send Diccon to get her when he recalled that he'd told his wife to only open the door for him. He gestured to them to come over.  
  
Reassured when the horse had made no hostile move (indeed he seemed to be watching with concerned curiosity) the other hobbits approached slowly. "Stay by him, lads! I'll go fetch Dilly, and we'll try to think of some way to move the poor fellow out of this field."  
  
Hob raced back to the hole, and Dilly was watching through the window. She opened the door before he could even raise his hand to knock. "What is it, Hob?" she asked.  
  
"Yon horse is guarding an injured fellow, I suppose it was his rider. He's well and truly out of it, but his clothes is stained with blood. We need to figure some way to get him out of the dirt, and think o' some way we can help him."  
  
"Well, water won't go amiss, whatever the trouble is. Bring along a bucket o' clean water from the well, Hob. I'll grab some old sheets as I was planning to tear up for rags. They'll do for bandages if we need them, and they're clean. Oh--and maybe some o' that salve Myrtle left for us when she was to home last time. She said it'd be good for stanching cuts." She turned and headed for the linen room, and Hob hurried to the well. Soon she joined him, and they walked down together.  
  
Dilly refrained from asking too many questions, for which Hob was grateful; he had blessed few answers to give her. When they arrived in the turnip field, he saw that Diccon and Hari had lost their fear of the horse. Diccon had taken his jacket off and rolled it up to put beneath the Man's head, and Hari had become so bold as to be standing by the horse, patting his nose and telling him soothingly that his master would be cared for.  
  
Dilly's eyes widened as she saw just how big both horse and rider were. The hobbits looked like faunts alongside them. But she was drawn immediately to the poor injured Man. She knelt by him, and turned up her nose just a little at the rank smell of sweat and blood. Thankfully, his tunic fastened down the front with large buckles--well, to her anyway, they were probably small for him--and so she was able to draw it away from him without having to cut it. The shirt below was dirty and stained, of course, but had originally been made of nice linen. She felt the lump of some sort of bandage beneath, and blushing she drew it up. Another shirt had been tied around his torso, just below his ribs. It looked crude and awkward to her, and she realized he had probably needed to tend himself when the injury was new. The wound had crusted blood as well as fresh, and so had probably been made a few days before. The fresh blood had probably happened when he fell off his horse. She placed her hand near the cut (how in the world had he come by such an injury?) and felt heat, though she smelled no putrefaction; the cut was infected, but not yet so badly that it could not be healed. But he certainly could not stay in the turnip field. How could they move him without harming him even more?  
  
Well, first things first. "Diccon, raise his head up. I'm going to see if I can rouse him enough to take some water." Hob handed the dipper to her, only half full to make it easier. Diccon was awkward, and the fellow's chin nearly touched his chest. He gave a little moan, and thankfully roused enough to swallow a couple of sips. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, clearly trying to make sense of the concerned faces peering at him. He gave a croak, and then when it was offered, another sip of water.  
  
"Hob...hobbits? The Sh-shire?" he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"Aye," Hob nodded, "you are in the Shire, and we are hobbits. I'm Hobson Greenhand, and this here's my wife Daffodil, at you service. That fellow just behind you is my hired hand, Diccon Brown. And the one over yonder with your horse is Haribold Sandybanks. You feel up to telling us who you are and why you're here?"  
  
The Man closed his eyes, and for a moment they thought he'd gone out on them again. But then he drew a deep breath, and his eyes opened again. Then he spoke a little more strongly, "Grant that I am in time! I am a Ranger, Hirluin son of Dirluin, by name, and I bear a warning forthe Shire: danger is..." He stopped, his voice growing weak again. Dilly held the dipper up to him once more, and after another sip of water, he continued. "Orcs. Orcs are coming."  
  
"What's orcs, Mr. Hirluin?" Asked the farmer, perplexed.  
  
"Orcs, orcs..." He paused. "Your people call them 'goblins', I believe. They are dreadful. One of them gave me this wound with his spear."  
  
Hob and Dilly exchanged a look. Goblins were creatures out of nursery tales, surely. But this fellow had obviously ridden long and hard to warn them.  
  
"Please believe me. You must warn your people to flee or to hide." He closed his eyes once more, as though it was too much effort to keep them open.  
  
It was Dilly who broke the horrified silence. "First things first, pardon me saying so, Mr. Hirluin. And first is getting you out of our turnip field to where you can be tended. You can't go nowhere as you are now." She sat back on her knees, and put the dipper back in the bucket. She looked at the bandages she had brought--better to deal with his injury once they got him put. But she tore off one strip, folded it, and placed it over the cut, and then retied the shirt he'd been using. That would stop any fresh bleeding until they got him...where? It wouldn't do to try and get him inside the _smial_ ; probably would hurt him worse. But perhaps the barn? "Hari," she said. "Run up to the barn; use Bossy's old stall, it's the cleanest as she's no longer there. Use fresh hay to make up a good pallet, and cover it with the tarp we use for the threshing. It's clean, too, and not needed again for months. It will be big enough for Mr. Hirluin to lie on comfortable like."  
  
But now the really difficult matter. She looked at her husband, and he followed her gaze back towards the hole and the barn. "We can't carry him, not even if all four of us try. And I don't suspect as he can walk that far. Not right now."  
  
Hirluin opened his eyes and looked at his rescuers. They were right; he was too large for them to carry, and he could not possibly walk that far. If he tried, he feared his strength would be taxed too far and he could not risk that. But he had a way. It would be painful and tax him as well, but not so much as trying to walk would do.  
  
"Fear not, good hobbits," he said. His voice was still cracked and raw, but it felt stronger. "Move aside," he said, and he made a clucking noise.  
  
Hob, Dilly and Diccon scrambled to move out of the way as the big horse moved towards them. He came to stand by his master, and then Hirluin spoke in a tongue that none of the hobbits recognised. To their astonishment, the bay knelt down next to Hirluin, who grabbing on to his mane, managed with a grunt of pain, to drag himself up onto the big animal.  
  
Hirluin fought a wave of nausea as Belan stood beneath him. He spoke once more in Sindarin: _Thank you, my friend; now follow these small ones._ It was all he could do to remain in the saddle. He spoke to the hobbits again: "Belan will follow where you lead him now."  
  
Hesitantly, Hob took the reins, which hung down loosely. To his surprise, the horse did indeed follow placidly behind him. He still felt a little frightened to have such a large creature walking behind him, but only because it made him feel so very small and vulnerable. He was not truly scared of the horse.  
  
By the time they made their slow way to the barn, Hirluin was fast losing consciousness again. But as Belan lowered to allow them to roll him onto a comfortable hay pallet, he used the last of his strength to say once more: "You must warn your people; send warning..."  
  
As Dilly began to tend the now insensible Man, washing and re-bandaging his wound, clucking over it and wishing she dared to stitch it (but wasn't it too late for stitching?) and wishing further that her daughter was to home, Hob stood up and summoned Diccon to his side. "Diccon, take Dobbin," and he pointed to the pony's stall, "and ride out to see if you can find Bil Lightfoot, if you can't find him, find Shirriff Headstrong. Tell 'em about this Man and his warning. Have 'em send word to Long Cleeve. Mr. Longhole there can get a messenger to the Thain. Make sure they listen and believe you!"  
  
Diccon was pale. He'd nearly forgotten the Big Man's warning about goblins! Could there really be goblins coming? Here he was being sent off to warn the Bounder and the Shirriff, and he wasn't sure he believed it himself. "Do you think it's true, Mr. Hob?"  
  
Farmer Greenhand looked down at where Dilly was carefully tending their unexpected guest. " _He_ thinks it's true; and better safe than sorry."  
  
Diccon nodded. Then he went to saddle up the farm pony, and try to figure out where he could find the Bounder.  
  
TBC


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hirluin explains the danger to the hobbits, but will they believe him?

  
  


**The Invasion**

  
  
  
Part 3  
  
Hirluin wakened, startled at his surroundings at first, he blinked and shook his head. Of course, he was among the hobbits. He looked around; he realised he was in a barn. It was small, well made and tidy. He was quite comfortable upon a pallet of hay, and he could see Belan looking over at him from the low wall of the next stall over.  
  
"Eh, you're awake then!"  
  
He turned his head to see the farmer, Master Hob, sitting next to him. "Are you feeling a bit peckish?" he asked.  
  
Hirluin was surprised to realise that he did indeed feel hungry. His appetite had not been good since his injury--which had been just as well, since he had little he could have eaten and not much time for it either. He nodded.  
  
"Hari! Go tell the missus our guest is awake. I know she wants to feed him."  
  
Dilly arrived in a few moments with a large pot that had a most savory smell. Hari was carrying dishes. They appeared rather large for hobbits; then he realised that the spoon was actually the dipper from the well and the bowl was a mixing bowl. Dilly put the pot down next to Hirluin, and the smell made his mouth water.  
  
Dilly looked over at her husband. "Hob, can you help him sit up?"  
  
As the hobbit, with Hari's aid helped the Ranger to a sitting position, Hirluin could not help a painful gasp. But he waved the hobbits' concern away. "Do not trouble yourself. I must sit up to eat, and I must learn to put aside the pain." Truthfully, he felt a wave of lightheadedness, but it passed. Dilly was dipping some of the delicious smelling stuff into the bowl, and he found himself watching with rapt attention.  
  
"Can you hold it and feed yourself?" she asked.  
  
He nodded, and took the bowl and the dipper. It was broth, but there were very tiny bits of meat and vegetables floating in it, and it was a rich deep brown colour. He dipped up a bit of it and sipped. It was hot, but not hot enough to burn his mouth. It was just salty enough, and he closed his eyes in bliss. He had not had hot food since he'd been injured; only dried meat and fruit and waybread, and when that had run out he'd not even felt like thinking about food. He found he was eating eagerly.  
  
"Here, now, Mr. Hirluin, slow down a bit! You don't want to make yourself sick." She took the now empty bowl. "We'll wait a bit, and if it sits well with you, you can have some more."  
  
He nodded, seeing the wisdom in her words. Truthfully, he was full, though his mouth was seeing fit to argue the matter. He said as much to Mistress Greenhand, who put her hand to her mouth and stifled a giggle.  
  
He laid back down upon his pallet, and soon had drifted once more into a profoundly deep sleep.  
  
The second time Hirluin wakened, Mistress Greenhand served him more of the delicious broth, along with some fresh brown bread to dip into it. She left after he ate, and he was able to make his way to a corner of the stall where a small chamber pot had been placed. After he had finished he slowly returned to his pallet, and soon fell deeply asleep once more.  
  
When he woke again, it was full dark; he could see very little, but he could hear crickets chirping. He was alone, but he did not feel like going back to sleep. He kept thinking of the danger these small people were in. They had kindly taken him in, a stranger with a wild story, and offered him hospitality and healing. The thought of what the orcs--goblins as the hobbits called them--would do to his new friends, made his blood run cold.  
  
Just then he heard the creaking of the barn door, and the hissing of whispered voices.  
  
"Rob Headstrong, I don't care if you are the Shirriff, you are not to wake up that poor Man! He needs his rest!" That was clearly Mistress Greenhand.  
  
"Now, Dilly, let the Shirriff do his work..." and that was the Farmer.  
  
"Missus Dilly, I don't want to do any harm to this Big Person, but I need to learn about this story of his. He may be all you say, but he sounds mad. Goblins! Why would goblins care about the Shire?" a third voice hissed.  
  
"Do not fear to wake me," Hirluin said, his voice sounding louder than usual in the previous quietness. "I was not asleep."  
  
He heard the creak of the stall door, and the hobbits entered. One was carrying a dark lantern; he raised the shutter. The faint light seemed almost glaring to Hirluin, but he blinked a few times, and soon his eyes had adjusted to the light.  
  
Two of the hobbits were the Greenhands, but the third was a stranger. The third hobbit was slightly taller and a good deal stockier than Hob, and though Hirluin could not see the exact colour of his hair, it was dark.  
  
He came near to the pallet, and Hirluin sat up once more, not without a gasp of pain as his injury pulled slightly.  
  
The new hobbit came into the stall, and gave a nod of his head. "Robur Headstrong, Chief Shirriff in the North Farthing, at your service," he said.  
  
"Hirluin, son of Dirluin, Ranger of Eriador, at yours, Shirriff Headstrong."  
  
"What's this I hear you are saying about goblins?" Hirluin's heart sank. He could hear the skeptical tone of the Shirriff's voice.  
  
Maintaining a serious mien, Hirluin gave a brief account of his encounter with the orcs. "There are about one-hundred of the beasts still left, and they are fierce, cunning and merciless. I was able to move quickly with the help of my horse, since they are still afoot; but they will soon be approaching your northernmost border. You must warn the people to flee or to hide, for there is no hope with such a dreadful foe."  
  
"You want to panic the entire Shire?" The Shirriff looked indignant. "You are just one person, and you have outrun them. And hobbits are very good at hiding. Besides, how bad can these 'goblins' be?"  
  
"More terrible than you may imagine! Are you going to do nothing?" Hirluin allowed his anger to show. What a stubborn hobbit!  
  
"The Bounder has headed over Greenfields way to see if he can find anything out. He'll report to me, and then we'll decide what to do."  
  
Hirluin was fuming. But he dared not say more and antagonise the fellow. It was going to be up to him. If only he knew who was the right person to approach...  
  
He could tell that both the Greenhands were angry, but Dilly set her face. "Come along, Shirriff Rob, we'll get out some blankets and you can bed down by the hearth. It's too late to ride home. Hob, would you stay and see that our guest gets some more water?"  
  
"That's right kind of you, Mistress Dilly." The Shirriff followed his hostess out of the barn. Hob scowled after them.  
  
"Old fool! But that's a Headstrong for you! We told him you was telling the truth, but he don't want to 'make a fuss' if nothing happens."  
  
"Is the Bounder more reliable?"  
  
"Aye. But he'll be going right out of the way. We need someone to go West, to Long Cleeve. Mister Jago Longhole's the only Squire up this-away, and if he sends a messenger to the Thain, it'll be listened to."  
  
"Why not go directly to the Thain?"  
  
Hob gave him a shrewd look. "Well, it's a goodly distance for one thing, almost to the South-farthing. The Squire can make sure as a messenger can get fresh ponies at the inns, and so ride right through. Faster to convince him we need the messenger."  
  
"I shall go myself, if you would be so kind as to give me directions."  
  
"You can't." Dilly had come back to the barn. She glared at him over the stall door. "You aren't well yet."  
  
"Aside from that, you'd never make it on your own anyhow. The way across the moor is full of bogs and such."  
  
"Nevertheless I must try. I do feel much better than I did when I arrived."  
  
Dilly sniffed to show her opinion of that statement.  
  
Hob pursed his lips and nodded at him. "You'll need a guide. Take me with you, then. I know the way well. I can keep you and your horse from falling into bogs, and get you there the quickest way."  
  
"Hob!" Dilly's voice was sharp.  
  
"Daffodill Greenhand, you know well that this is no lark. If we don't get a message to the Thain we'll be overrun with them goblins! You saw what they did to Hirluin there, and he had a sword and all to fight back."  
  
She nodded reluctantly.  
  
Hob turned and looked back at Hirluin. "Can that big horse of yours ride straight through?"  
  
"How far is it?"  
  
"Nigh on seventeen leagues, give or take a few furlongs."  
  
"It seems that it is the middle of the night now?"  
  
Hob nodded.  
  
"Then if we leave now we should be able to arrive by midday. It is dark, and we will, by your account be riding on treacherous ground. By morning we may be able to pick up speed in the daylight. Belan is strong, but your extra weight will slow him a little bit. We shall not be able to ride at top speed, I am afraid."  
  
"That's a long sight faster than we can go in our waggon when we go to visit Myrtle. It takes us nigh on two days."  
  
"Well," said Dilly, "If you are set on this, I'll make you up some packets of food you can eat from the saddle, bread and cheese and pasties and such, and some apples. And fill a couple o' waterskins."  
  
By the time that Hirluin had Belan saddled, Dilly had returned with a canvas satchel of food that could be tied to the saddle. Hirluin lifted Hob up to sit before him, wincing with pain. He feared he had pulled his wound again, and hoped it did not start bleeding afresh. Then he mounted, and Dilly stood at the barn door to watch them ride away into the darkness.  
  
For the first few hours, they made good time. They were upon a road, and Belan could alternate trotting and walking. But soon enough they came to a fork in the road.  
  
"Which one do we take?" One road stretched to the East, the other to the South.  
  
"Neither one nor the other," said Hob. "South'd just take us on to Greenfields, which'll have us going down the length of the moors; West'll turn South and take us to Long Cleeve, but that's a longer way. It's made to avoid the moors. So we heads straight on, Mr. Hirluin and just cut across a corner of the moors. But we'll need to go slower, for a little, until the Sun shows herself and I can see the markers."  
  
"Dawn is not far off now, I ken," said Hirluin. They rode at a moderate pace for a while. Every now and then, Hob would ask Hirluin to stop, but only for a second, as the hobbit tried to get his bearings. Soon the Sun rose, and they picked up the pace. Hirluin drank gratefully of his waterskin, and ate one of Dilly's mushroom pasties. Hob simply kept up a steady pace of eating, frequently offering Hirluin food. But the Ranger was beginning to feel his pain again, and had little appetite.  
  
Now Hob could see the markers set to mark the bogs, and began to steer them around them. Soon they curved to the West.  
  
"T'won't be long now," said Hob. "It's nigh on time for nuncheon." Indeed, the hobbit's stomach began to rumble. Hirluin could not help but wonder in amazement. Hob had eaten steadily through the morning, and even now was munching on an apple.  
  
"Look!" Hob pointed South, where Hirluin could see the sparkle of a distant river. "That's the Water. We'll follow it up to Long Cleeve. There's a road again, as runs alongside the Water."  
  
Hirluin was grateful. Belan was tired, he knew, and he himself was beyond exhausted. But the thought of what would happen if the hobbits remained unwarned burned ever in his heart and gave him strength to ignore his pain. They found the road as Hob had said, and rode upon it as it rose uphill. The hill was cleft in two by the river, and on the northern side was a rocky ridge, almost a low cliff. The southern bank was not so high. As they rode they began to see a few hobbits going about the day's business who gaped in astonishment. While Dwarves were sometimes see in this part of the Shire, it was very rare to see one of the Big Folk.  
  
As they rode, Hirluin noticed the cottages that made up a small village. But just beyond it rose up another hill, at the apex of the ridge, riddled with round windows and not a few doors. Hobbits began pouring out of the doors like ants whose mound has been disturbed. All of them gathered around at a respectable distance. Hirluin dismounted stiffly, fighting off dizziness. He turned to help Hob down, leaning against Belan for support. As Hob half slid to the ground, Hirluin's knees buckled, and he found himself kneeling on the ground, fighting off pain and nausea.  
  
An older hobbit with an air of authority about him stood forth from the crowd. He looked at Hob. "Farmer Greenhand, could you please tell me what is going on?"  
  
"Mr. Longhole, this here's Hirluin, a Ranger, and he's come all this way, wounded and sick as he is, to bring us a warning."  
  
"A warning? Of what?"  
  
Hirluin summoned up all his strength to look at the hobbit. "Goblins, sir. An army of them, headed for the Shire." His head bowed and his hands were on his knees. He was utterly spent.  
  
TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Longhole must decide what to do with his strange new guest and his warning!

**B2MeM Challenge:** This prompt by[](http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lindahoyland**](http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/): _Are the Rangers ever seen in the Shire? If so what do the Hobbits make of them? Do the Rangers ever openly help the Hobbits or have the Hobbits ever helped a sick or injured Ranger?_  
**Format:** format:multi-chapter  
**Genre:** genre:adventure, genre:gapfiller  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** Violence and one passing mention of cannibalism among orcs  
**Characters:** Ranger OMC, various hobbits, Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took  
**Pairings:** Bandobras/OFC  
**Creators' Notes (optional):** This draws somewhat on my account of the Battle of Greenfields as recounted by Berilac Brandybuck in [Chapter 15 of "In the Court of the High King"](http://162.253.148.204/chapterview.asp?sid=6585&cid=31224)  
**Summary:** Wounded and in peril of his life, a Ranger of the North carries a dire warning to the Shire: invasion!  
  


 

 

 

**The Invasion**

  
  
**Part 4**  
  
Jago Longhole looked at the Man, and then drew in a deep breath and turned to the hobbit at his side. "Gabby, go find Mistress Beryl. Tell her the patient is one of the Big Folk, and make whatever arrangements she tells you may be necessary to care for him. Find some strong, likely lads--we'll probably need six to eight hobbits to carry him into the smial. Then send someone over to the Post Office and tell the Postmaster we will need his fastest Quick Post Rider for a journey to Tuckborough. Tell him it is an emergency." Then he raised his voice to the crowd: "If you've no good reason to be here, then go on about your business."  
  
Gabby nodded briskly and went in search of the Healer, who also happened to be the Mr. Jago's sister, Beryl. Gabby wasn't sure he believed in goblins, but the Squire clearly took the threat seriously, so he would too. Fortunately word had already reached Mistress Beryl through the gossip of the crowd, now dispersing. As he went into the smial he found her already headed in his direction, trailed by her apprentices, Myrtle Greenhand and Miss Diamanté, the Master's daughter. "Mr. Jago's asking for you..." He said.  
  
The Healer nodded. "I heard there is an injured Big Person." She did not pause, but continued to bustle along briskly to the main door.  
  
Gabby was used to her in an emergency, and matched her stride for stride. "Yes, Mistress Beryl." He glanced behind him at the apprentices. "Miss Myrtle's da came along with him."  
  
"My da?"  
  
"Aye, Miss Myrtle."  
  
Myrtle started to speed up, but Mistress Beryl spoke up. "Remember your place, Myrtle."  
  
"Aye, Mistress," she replied meekly, slowing down again.  
  
As they went back outside, the Healers went over to where Jago stood by Hob Greenhand and the stranger still were. The Man was still sitting upon the ground, his big horse standing guard over him.  
  
-oo000oo-  
  
  
As Gabby went on his assigned tasks, Jago had gone over to where Hob and the Ranger were. Hob was leaning over his guest with a worried expression. Hirluin's eyes were glassy, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his face. His breathing was shallow.  
  
Hob looked up. "Mr. Longhole, sir, he needs some help."  
  
"I've already sent for the Healers, Farmer Greenhand. They should be here very soon. What can you tell me about his warning? Clearly, you believe it, or you wouldn't have come with him."  
  
"Well, sir, considering he nigh killed hisself getting to the Shire, I think he deserves to be listened to. I don't think it's madness, nor no fever dream. If he says goblins are a-coming, then I'm sure as sure can be he's telling us true."  
  
"I'm inclined to agree with you, Farmer Greenhand. I've always found you a shrewd judge of character. Did he give you any details?  
  
"He said they was coming in from the north. He come ahead of them as fast as he could; washed up this side o' the Brandywine right in my turnip field. If they was directly behind him, that's about where they'd come in, or mayhap a few miles to the East or West o' there. He also said there was about a hundred, evil brutes, big and cruel."  
  
"Very well. If it comes to nothing some folks might be fussed, but if it's true, they'll be far more than fussed--they could be dead! Better safe than sorry!"  
  
"That's what I say," replied the farmer, "but Shirriff Headstrong, he didn't want to bother folks!"  
  
Jago snorted. His opinion of Rob Headstrong was not high, but the shirriffs were appointed by the Mayor; he had no say in that. Just then he smiled to see to his sister and her apprentices approach. Beryl gave only a brief nod of acknowledgement to as she went straight to the patient. Even kneeling as he was, the Man was still taller than she was standing. She drew her amber pendant over her head, and held it before the Man.  
  
Jago often found his sister's use of her pendulum to be fascinating but mysterious, but even to Jago's untrained eye, the pendent was swinging erratically which he knew was not a good sign.  
  
She put the pendulum back on, and felt the pulse at his neck. He blinked and looked at her blearily.  
  
"M-must...warn..." he could barely whisper the words.  
  
"Shush, lad," Beryl responded comfortingly. "Let me check you over." There were spots of blood on his shirt, and she lifted it. The bandage beneath was beginning to seep, to all appearances, not for the first time. "I want to examine his injury more closely, but I can't do that here."  
  
-oo000oo-  
  
Gabby watched as the three Healers went over to where the injured Man was, and then went to his other task; he'd soon commandeered three stable hands, two of the undercooks, and two of the gardeners, and a visiting blacksmith. He sent the youngest of the stablehands off with the message for the Postmaster. "Bring the Quick Post messenger back with you, as the Master will have a letter for him."  
  
The tween nodded. "Yes, Mr. Gabo." He turned and raced off in the direction of the village.  
  
He turned to the others he had recruited. "Go over to the healers, and do whatever Mistress Beryl needs of you to help her with the patient."  
  
The hobbits looked over in the direction he had pointed. One of the undergardeners looked doubtful. "That Man? I don't see how we'll be able to handle one of them Big Folk."  
  
Gabby turned a stern look upon him. "You do what you're told. That Man has ridden long and hard even though he's wounded and sick, to warn us of danger. He deserves to be taken care of. He's a guest of the Master now!"  
  
The undergardener looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gabo, sir."  
  
"Now off with you! Mistress Beryl needs help."  
  
He watched the hobbits go to join the healers, and then turned and went into the smial. He had been Jago Longhole's assistant since he'd come of age and his cousin had asked for his help. Gabo Banks had taken great pride over the years in anticipating Jago's needs. First he'd see to a guest room for Farmer Greenhand. Then he'd ready Jago's study so that he could write his message to the Thain, and make any other preparations necessary in case the Man's warning was true. Gabby very much feared it was.  
  
-oo000oo-  
  
Mistress Beryl was pleased to see strong arms and backs approaching, although she was still concerned about how they could take him inside. Even with all this help, carrying him would be awkward at best, and could even harm the patient if he should be dropped. He was clearly too weak to walk so far. She voiced her concerns aloud.  
  
Farmer Greenhand twisted his hat in his hands, and told her of the solution they had used on the farm.  
  
The healer shook her head. "I don't think so. We could not get him into the smial on a horse, and I would prefer not to treat him in the barn!"  
  
One of the cooks spoke up. "Mistress Beryl, would that long work table on wheels they use in the main kitchen work?"  
  
"Could you lift him up that high?"  
  
"We oughtn't need to, Mistress; we could take the pegs out of the tabletop and lift it down aside of him. I'm thinking it would be a mite easier to move him back up on top of it, and put the pegs back in."  
  
"That sounds like an excellent idea, Rook! Thank you for thinking of it. Can you see to borrowing it for us?"  
  
"Yes'm, Mistress Beryl." He turned to the other undercook. "Mat, come with me. It'll take two of us to steer that big table."  
  
Mat nodded, and the two cooks went off to fetch the table. Beryl turned to her apprentices. "Dia, go fetch some blankets. We'll need several to cover the table and make our patient comfortable."  
  
"Yes, Mistress," and she too, hurried off. Beryl watched her with pride; she doubted that her niece would become a full-fledged healer. Diamanté was, after all, Jago's only child and heir. But she was working hard, and had no problems in learning the proper attitude of an apprentice. The skills she was learning in handling people would be useful in running Northcleft on her own or with a future husband, and any healer training would always be handy in an emergency.  
  
She turned to Myrtle. The apprentice was quietly waiting for her orders, though Beryl could read the signs; the lass desperately wished for a word from her father. Farmer Greenhand looked far more impatient than his daughter, wringing his hat in his hands and casting glances at her. "Myrtle, you may have a moment to speak with your father, and then you must go to the stillroom. I will need you to prepare some birch bark tea, and add a teaspoonful of the goldenseal infusion we just prepared. Check our stores of boneset and comfrey. See if we have any comfrey salve left. If not we shall need to make some up."  
  
"Yes, Mistress Beryl." Myrtle took a deep breath and looked at her father; Hob came over, and the two exchanged a few short words--just enough to insure one another of each other's well-being, Beryl assumed. There was a look of relief on Myrtle's face, and then she too, hurried off.  
  
Then Beryl looked at her brother. Jago had been calmly waiting as she made her assessment. Now she turned to him to answer any questions he was bound to have about this stranger suddenly thrust upon his hospitality, and to get answers of her own.  
  
"Will he be all right, Beryl?"  
  
"He seems likely to live. A lot will depend on his injury; but it's not a new wound, and it hasn't killed him yet. There are some signs of infection, however, and we must hope that the injury is not badly septic. His main problem aside from the wound seems to be exhaustion, blood loss, and he's badly parched and been eating poorly for several days. He should not have been riding at all, much less travelling so far and in such haste."  
  
Farmer Greenhand had stayed by them after Myrtle left to do her duties. He spoke up diffidently. "We gave him water and some broth; we was afraid to try and feed him up too much. But he seemed to be doing better when we set out; he said he had to come to convince folks of the danger, when the Shirriff didn't take him seriouslike."  
  
"Fear not, Mr. Greenhand," said Jago. "I do take his message seriously. As soon as I can I will send a message to Tuckborough to the Thain. And I'll begin gathering up the local muster so we will be ready when we hear back from Thain Ferumbras."  
  
The farmer heaved a sigh of relief.  
  
Just then the two cooks came back, wheeling along the path a long butcher-block worktable on wheels. It was close to seven feet long and It rolled smoothly enough along the flagstone path, and they brought it out to the drive where the group stood. At the same time, Diamante came hurrying back, her arms filled with blankets, and behind her a couple of maidservants similarly burdened trotted along.  
  
Rook and Mat used a wooden mallet to remove the pegs that held the wooden tabletop, and then with the help of the stablehands they were able to lift it off and lower it to the ground. Diamante needed no orders, but with the help of the maidservants she began to quickly arrange a comfortable pallet upon it.  
  
Beryl stood over the Man, Hirluin, the farmer had said his name was. He had been resting with his head on his knees. She roused him, for he had fallen asleep, poor fellow, and urged him to move enough to sit upon the pallet and then lie down.  
  
She gave a start, and one of the maidservants squeaked when the big horse took a step closer, and pawed a hoof as they began to lay hands upon his master. This roused Hirluin more than aught else had done. The horse lowered his head, and nuzzled at the Man's face. He reached a hand up weakly to pat it on the nose. "Peace, Belan," he murmured, and then said something softly in an unfamiliar language. "Can someone see to my brave fellow?" he asked. "He's worked so hard..."  
  
One of the stablehands, who'd been looking with admiration at the huge animal, offered to take him and see him watered, fed and groomed.  
  
"I'll help," said Farmer Greenhand. "This is a good horse." He followed the stablehand as Belan was led away, watched by the anxious eyes of his master for a moment.  
  
It took both remaining stablehands, both cooks and gardeners, the blacksmith and Jago himself to lift the tabletop now that Hirluin was lying atop it. Beryl held her breath, fearing that if they could not keep it steady it might tilt and drop her large patient upon the hard ground. But in spite of much grunting and groaning, the hobbits managed to place it smoothly upon the frame once more, and the two cooks replaced the pegs that held it in place.  
  
Beryl heaved a sigh of relief. "To the infirmary," she said. The sooner she had her patient where she could begin treating him, the better.

Jago helped to take Hirluin into the smial. Once his unexpected guest was settled, he had a letter to write to the Thain. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hirluin is being cared for as the hobbits spread the word of the invasion.

  **B2MeM Challenge:** This prompt by[](http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lindahoyland**](http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/): _Are the Rangers ever seen in the Shire? If so what do the Hobbits make of them? Do the Rangers ever openly help the Hobbits or have the Hobbits ever helped a sick or injured Ranger?_  
**Format:** format:multi-chapter  
**Genre:** genre:adventure, genre:gapfiller; genre:hurt/comfort  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** Violence and one passing mention of cannibalism among orcs  
**Characters:** Ranger OMC, various hobbits, Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took  
**Pairings:** Bandobras/OFC  
**Creators' Notes (optional):** This draws somewhat on my account of the Battle of Greenfields as recounted by Berilac Brandybuck in [Chapter 15 of "In the Court of the High King"](http://162.253.148.204/chapterview.asp?sid=6585&cid=31224)  
**Summary:** Wounded and in peril of his life, a Ranger of the North carries a dire warning to the Shire: invasion!  
  


 

 

**The Invasion**

  
  
Myrtle had prepared the various medicines as her Mistress had requested. She had also checked the supplies of bandages and clean linens, which were stored in a cedar lined room next to the stillroom. They'd no bedsheets nor blankets large enough for one of the Big Folk. She knew that Mistress Beryl had doubled them up in making the transport for the Man, but it would not do for any length of time. If he moved around very much, he would soon have some places bunched up and some that had no covers at all. While she was waiting for her Mistress, she took two of the largest sheets and her sewing kit; she lined up the edges of the sheets, pinned them, and began to stitch them together. Sitting in the stillroom with the door open so she could see any activity in the corridor, she used a sturdy backstitch with doubled thread to keep the sheets from separating, but made the stitches large enough to be easily picked out once their patient was gone.  
  
She was nearly halfway through when she heard them coming. Mistress Beryl was directing the hobbits who were pushing the "bed" along. The infirmary was right across from the stillroom, and her mistress glanced in her direction with a nod and a quick smile, to show she approved of what Myrtle was doing.  
  
"Mistress Beryl?" Rook said. "I don't think we can turn this to get it into the infirmary." The passageway was too narrow and the table was too long to maneuver it into the small round door.  
  
Myrtle put down her sewing, and went to look out the door, and shook her head. What could they do now?  
  
But there was scarcely a moments hesitation before Mr. Jago spoke up. "The parlour at the end--" he pointed to the end of the hallway: the doorway there was extra wide and no turns were necessary. They could push the make-shift bed straight in. The room was known as the "summer parlor"; surrounded by four guest bedrooms, it had doors to a veranda outside instead of windows and so was cooler in the summertime, and was quite bright, as it had a skylight in the ceiling. There were no guests currently staying in the guest rooms, making the summer parlor the perfect location for Mistress Beryl's patient.  
  
Mr. Jago opened the door wide, and then stepped inside to push aside a couple of armchairs and a small table, and then returned to help push the table on into the room.  
  
Myrtle had followed with a tray upon which she had placed the tea her Mistress had ordered, and the salve, a kettle of hot water, and a roll of clean bandages. Diamante saw her, and cleared one of the side tables so that Myrtle could put the tray down. Both apprentices went to stand by the healer's side.  
  
Mistress Beryl thanked her helpers. "You have done a good job getting him here, lads, but now you have other things to do. Go along with you, with my thanks. The "lads" all bobbed their heads at her and left the room. Jago remained.  
  
"Please keep me informed, Beryl. Do you think he will be all right?"  
  
"I need to examine him more thoroughly, but if his wound is not badly infected, he should be all right in the long run. He has a long recovery ahead of him, though."  
  
Jago nodded. "Well, little sister, I have to write a letter to the Thain. Let us hope that he won't dismiss it all as moonshine."  
  
Beryl patted her brother's shoulder. "Ferumbras is a sensible sort. I am sure he will pay attention to what you say."  
  
"I'm sure you are right, Beryl." Jago left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
-oo000oo-  
  
Jago found Gabby waiting in his study and gave him a nod. His cousin was sitting in a chair in front of the desk, upon which he had laid out all that was necessary for the writing of a letter. Jago sat down behind it in his own chair and picked up his quill and began to write.  
   
_9 Forelithe, S.R. 1147  
_Northcleft, Long Cleeve_  
_Northfarthing_  
  
_Dear Thain Ferumbras:_  
  
_I send you this urgent message! Today, a well-respected hobbit of the Northfarthing, a Mr. Greenhand, who lives near Greenfields, came to Northcleft accompanied by one of the Big Folk, a Man, who was seriously injured and ill. He had come to the Shire in spite of his injury, to warn us of danger.  
  
It seems that there is a group of goblins, at least one hundred strong, marching on the Shire and intending to invade us. I know that this sounds like a wild tale. However, I have no doubt that the Man, whose name is Hirluin son of Dirluin, and has described himself as a Ranger, is telling the truth.  
  
I urge you to call up the Shire muster, and send them with all haste to the Northfarthing. In the meantime, I shall be calling up any able-bodied hobbits I can here in Long Cleeve. We will be ready when you arrive. I shall also issue warnings to the villages to evacuate or hide.  
  
Please hurry! By the time you get this warning, the goblins may very well be at our bounds!_  
  
_Respectfully yours,_  
  
_Jago Longhole, Esq.__  
  
He put the letter to one side, and drew up another piece of parchment. This would be a letter of authorization for the Quick Post rider. Showing it would enable the rider to get food and refreshment and fresh ponies along the way. The Thain would reimburse the innkeepers and hostlers if he agreed this was an emergency for all the Shire. Otherwise, Jago himself would have to eat the cost. He hoped that Ferumbras would agree with his belief that this was a real threat.  
  
Gabby cleared his throat. "The Quick Post rider should be along anytime now. I told them to send their fastest rider straight along to your study."  
  
Jago looked up briefly. "Ed?"  
  
Gabby nodded. "Very likely. I did ask for their fastest rider, and I am afraid my son suits that bill." In spite of the words, there was an undercurrent of pride in his voice. Gabby's son Edro had found an outlet for a restless spirit in his job as a posthobbit, and he was indeed the fastest Quick Post rider in the whole of the Northfarthing. Ed's recklessness and mischief was no longer an issue as the lad found his job exciting enough to keep him out of trouble.  
  
There was a tap on the door, and Jago called "Come in!" It opened and the very one they had been speaking of came in.  
  
He greeted them with a cheeky grin. "Uncle Jago, Da. Mr. Dingle said you need a Quick Post rider for Tuckborough. The lad who came for me said it's urgent and has to do with Big People, though I thought perhaps he was pulling my foot hair."  
  
"Come sit down, Ed. He was not jesting. We have under this very roof a Man who came to warn us of an invasion of goblins. As wild and strange as his story is, I have no doubt he's being truthful. You will have the letter, but I do want you to do your best to convince the Thain that this is serious, and that every minute counts. Let him know the goblins are supposed to come in through the Northern bounds near Greenfields, and that I am already doing what I can to prepare our people. But we must have help to hold them back from the rest of the Shire!"  
  
Ed stared at his uncle and father in astonishment. "Seriously?"  
  
Both of them nodded solemnly. Jago passed over a large letter, folded thrice and sealed closed. "This is for the Thain." He slid over the second one. It was only folded once, and the seal was on the inside beneath the message. "This is your authorization. Use it as you have need to get fresh ponies, food and water. But do not stop nor stay more than you must, for the sooner the message sets out, the sooner the Thain can call up the Muster."  
  
Gabby looked his son in the eye. "Don't kill yourself getting there, son."  
  
"I won't, da." He stood up and took up the letters. "Shall I pass the word as I go?"  
  
"Only to those who will believe you, Edro," Jago replied. "But it will help the villages to be ready when the Thain passes through."  
  
"I won't give out details nor mention goblins. I'll just tell them that you have reason to believe enemies are going to cross the bounds and that you are asking the Thain to call up the Muster."  
  
"That's very sensible, lad. Good thinking, and good journey."  
  
"Yes, sir." He turned and left the room, his shoulders squared, and lacking the usual spring in his step. Jago knew that he had given his young cousin a big responsibility.  
  
  
-oo000oo-  
  
As soon as Jago had left, Mistress Beryl turned at once to her patient. With her apprentices' help she divested him of his shirt. While he had seemed weak and passive as they moved him, he had never been completely unconscious; he had muttered some in a language that none of the hobbits had understood, and had turned his head to follow the voices of those attending him. But as Myrtle and Diamanté lifted him so that Mistress Beryl could take off his shirt and bandages, he gasped, and hissed an oath.  
  
Mistress Beryl shook her head at the sight of the wound; without stitches, it had not knitted together properly. Although the entire cut was not septic, there were areas where it was inflamed and infected, which could spread if not dealt with right away. She shuddered at the jaggedness of the injury, which indicated to her how savage a blow it had been. It was far too late for stitches to the original injury, but she would need to cut away the infected areas. She briefly thought of the old method her own old mistress had taught her, using maggots--but she did not think the wound was so far gone as to call for that.  
  
"Mytle, we need tea: valerian, hops, chamomile, birch bark. I also want the poppy, prepared with cherry, and the wintergreen salve. We are going to have to debride the infected areas. Diamond, see to boiling my instruments and setting out the clean bandages." She turned to examining the rest of her patient. There were old bruises here and there, some small cuts that would need attention, and he was definitely dehydrated and malnourished. She'd need to feed him plenty of strong beef broth and red wine a lot of clean fresh water...  
  
-oo000oo-  
  
Edro went to the stables. For this stage of the ride, he wanted his own pony. Arrow was nearly as swift as his name, and he also did not shy at riding in the dark. He was also hardy. With Arrow he might even make it as far as Needlehole before having to change his mount. He knew the innkeeper there usually had several ponies to choose from him, and that old Tib would take good care of Arrow until he could fetch him back.  
  
He stopped and blinked twice on entering the stable to see, of all things, a full-sized horse! Young Matto was standing on a milking stool grooming the beautiful animal.  
  
"Is that the Man's horse?" he asked the groom.  
  
Matto nodded. "His name is Belan. Isn't he something, Mr. Edro?"  
  
"Indeed he is! I wish I was not in a hurry, else I'd help you with that fine fellow! But I'm taking Arrow off on an urgent message." He turned aside to his own pony's stall and led him out to be saddled.  
  
"That'd be to the Thain," Matto said knowingly. "That there Ranger, he said goblins was a-coming! I thought maybe 'twas nought but a fever-dream, but seeing as Mr. Jago took it serious-like, it must be true. I'll be ready for the muster when it comes!"  
  
Ed had been busy quickly saddling his pony as he listened to the groom. "Good for you! Well, I'm off!" He tightened the girth one last time and swung himself up.  
  
"Good luck and safe journey to you, Mr. Edro!"  
  
Ed said "Thanks!" as Arrow shot out of the stable.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word of the invasion is on the move as Hirluin recovers.

**B2MeM Challenge:** This prompt by lindahoyland: _Are the Rangers ever seen in the Shire? If so what do the Hobbits make of them? Do the Rangers ever openly help the Hobbits or have the Hobbits ever helped a sick or injured Ranger?_  
**Format:** format:multi-chapter  
**Genre:** genre:adventure, genre:gapfiller; genre:hurt/comfort  
**Rating:** PG-13 **Warnings:** Violence and one passing mention of cannibalism among orcs  
**Characters:** Ranger OMC, various hobbits, Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took  
**Pairings:** Bandobras/OFC  
**Creators' Notes (optional):  
** **Summary:** Wounded and in peril of his life, a Ranger of the North carries a dire warning to the Shire: invasion!  
  


 

  
****

 

**The Invasion**

**Part 6**

Edro and Arrow rode full out for a good long time, with brief stops for water and to give Arrow a breather. Since it was Forelithe, the Sun did not seek her rest for a good long time, but finally she was low in the West, and full night came on. It was not a bright evening, so Edro stayed on the road. It was in good repair, and better not to risk going cross-country in the dark.

He slowed Arrow to a canter, and then a walk, and back to a canter again. Even in the dark he was familiar with this stretch of road. It was not his first journey to the Southfarthing, after all. By an hour past midnight he had reached the first crossroad. There was a single turn-off to the West leading to Nobottle; scarcely a league further on was the road leading East to Needlehole, which was only about a league and a half after that. He allowed Arrow to canter again, and gave him a pat on the neck. "By moonset you'll be in a nice cosy stall, lad! But I'll have to keep on going..."

It was quite dark by the time they came cantering into Needlehole. The only light still burning in the village was the lantern next to the sign of The Golden Goat. He swung down from Arrow's back, and his knees almost buckled. But he quickly got his bearings, and went to knock on the inn door. He pounded the big iron knocker. He knew that Hasty Puddifoot, the innkeeper, always had someone near at hand however late it might be, to answer the door to benighted travellers.

He knocked once more, and heard a voice grumbling, "I'm coming! I'm coming! Just hold on!"

The door was flung open by Hasty's son Mallard. "Ed! I've not seen you on a while!"

"I'm glad to see you, Mal. But I'm on an urgent message run to the Thain. I can stay only long enough to change ponies and then I must be off again. It may be that the Thain will need to call up the Shire muster!"

"Bless me! You don't say?" Mal stood back to let Ed in. "Well, come in for a moment, and rest for a few minutes anyway--it will take a bit to find you a good pony, and this is news I need to wake Da for. Do you have a letter of credit with you?"

Ed nodded wearily. "It's from Uncle Jago."

"I'll go roust Da. You help yourself to ale from the tap, or if you'd druther, there's hot water on the hearth and the tea canister's on the mantel." Mallard did not wait for an answer, but headed back toward the passage that led to the family's own quarters within the inn.

Tea sounded good to Edro. If he were stopping for the night, he'd have the ale, but he needed a clear head; he had a long ride before him, on an unfamiliar pony. He hoped the pony he got was sturdy and had plenty of go in it. He found a mug on one of the shelves above the mantel, and poured in hot water. He had just set the tea to steep when he could hear voices, and Mal returned with his father Hasty.

"Mr. Edro! Mal says you have a message for the Thain!"

"I do, Hasty. I must go on with my journey as soon as another pony can be provided. Here's my letter of credit." He took the letter from within his jacket pocket, but Hasty waved it away.

"I know you, and I know your Uncle Jago will stand good for it if the Thain don't pay. What's this emergency?"

"We've had word from the bounds; there is reason to believe that enemies are coming here to the Shire, over the North bounds. Uncle Jago wished me to prepare folk as I went--it is more likely than not that the Thain will call out the Shire muster, so be ready to spread the word in the village tomorrow. I'm sure we will pass through here on the way back!"

"Aye, Mr. Edro!" Hasty turned to his son. "Mal, see to getting Toffee ready for him, and take care of the pony what he came in on."

"Yes, Da!" Mallard immediately went out to take care of the task.

"You finish your tea, now," said the innkeeper. "Would you care for a bite to eat while he's taking care of the ponies?"

"If it is something that I can eat quickly, I won't say 'no', Hasty, for until I get to the Great Smials, I'll likely just be eating fruit or journeybread as I ride."

Hasty went into the kitchens behind the bar, and returned with a platter containing bread, sliced cold ham, a round of cheese and some pickled onions. He placed it on a table, and Edro joined him with his tea. Ed took up the knife that was on the platter, and used it to slice some of the bread and cheese. He slapped the cheese on the bread, added a slice of the ham, and a couple of the small onions that he speared with the knife. Then he folded the bread over and took a bite. Hasty took a slice of the ham himself, to keep his guest company.

"So, how sure is your Uncle that an enemy is coming? What sort of enemy?"

Edro had taken a large bite of his food just as Hasty spoke. He pointed to his mouth, and took his time in chewing, as he considered his answer. Finally he swallowed and took another sip of tea. "Uncle is very certain. He would not send to the Thain if he was not; you know the  sort of fine we'd have to pay if he sent out a false alarm! And though he has asked me to only give the details when I arrive at the Great Smials, I can tell you that we can be sure these intruders will be extremely dangerous."

Hasty looked thoughtful. He also took his time eating that slice of ham. Then said, "Well, if the danger's likely to be so great, I'll speak to Mal. We can call up our local muster anyhow, drill 'em and such, so as they'll be prepared if the Shire Muster's called. I think we've got about a dozen sturdy hobbits. Some of 'em can even shoot a bow, and most is really good with slings and stones."

Needlehole was too small a village for a proper mayor, but Hasty was a leading citizen there and was usually the one looked to when the village had need of someone to speak for them. Ed nodded, and told Hasty it sounded a good plan. Then he concentrated on eating, and asking polite questions about Hasty's family. He had just finished a second sandwich and was sipping on another mug of tea when Mal came back in.

"You're all saddled up and ready to go, Mr. Edro!"

He scraped his chair back, and stood up. "Thank you, Mal! And thank you for the supper, Hasty!" 

Toffee awaited him outside the inn. She was a pretty little mare, and looked like she'd be up for a nice long run. She ought to at least get him as far as Hobbiton. He was sure to be there by first breakfast, and he would stop at _The Ivy Bush_ and have a real meal, before changing ponies for the last leg of the journey. Since it would be daylight, he could risk going cross-country, and cut a good long piece from the trip.

He waved farewell to Mal and Hasty, and urged Toffee into a canter.

-oo000oo

Hirluin blinked. Where was he? The room was dim, the ceiling low. A small flickering light was to his left. He was very sore, especially in his side where he had been wounded. But it no longer throbbed and burned. His head felt foggy and he found it hard to shake off sleep. He also had a mild headache. He slowly turned his head and looked at the small light. It was a candle on a small table, and as his eyes began to adjust, he could see a small figure sitting in a chair next to it. It was a hobbit-woman, her hands busy with a hook and some thread or fine yarn, though she was not looking at it. She was looking at him. "Ah, you've wakened, have you?" She smiled at him and he realised she looked familiar to him.

Oh! Now he recalled the face bent over him out in the courtyard where he had arrived. "H-healer?" he rasped. His throat was dry.

She placed her work on the small table and stood up. "Yes. I am Mistress Beryl Longhole. My brother Jago is the Master here." She moved across the room silently, out of his line of sight, and he heard the sound of liquid being poured.

After a moment, she  stood by his bedside, and held out a small tumbler. "Here, drink this, Hirluin."

The vessel was small and held only a couple of mouthfuls, but he drank it. It tasted of honey and vinegar and mint, and was quite refreshing. "Thank you," he said, as he handed the small cup back to her--to Mistress Beryl.

She took it, and said, "That's not nearly enough for a great strapping fellow like you." She stepped away long enough to bring him another. "I am afraid we are not used to hosting Big Folk here. We shall have to see if we cannot find something larger for you to drink from."

Now that he was waking his mind was not quite so foggy. "My message?" he asked.

"My brother sent it off to the Thain with a Quick Post rider. Even as swiftly as young Ed can ride, it will be sometime tomorrow before it could arrive. Normally it would be the day after tomorrow. But Ed is fast."

Reassured that all that could be done, had been done, Hirluin lay back against the pillow.

"And how are you feeling?" asked the healer.

"I have felt better," he said wryly.

"Tcha! None of that. I want to know exactly how you feel!"

"My side is painful, but not so painful as it was. I feel rather weak, and my head is foggy and aches. Yet I know I felt much worse when I arrived here!"

"I'm sorry about the headache and fogginess," said Mistress Beryl, "but I'm afraid we had to give you poppy before I began work on cleaning out the infection in your wound. Never having dealt with a patient your size before, I fear I may have given you too much. You slept longer than I expected."

Well, poppy explained it, thought Hirluin. He'd had to take poppy after an injury before years ago. It sometimes had the same effect as overindulging in ale.

"It's only a bit past midnight," she said. "I suggest you go back to sleep for a while. Your headache should be gone by morning.."

She gave him a gentle push as he started to raise his head and ask something. He felt her small hand, like a child's hand, smooth his hair back from his forehead, and a cool compress that smelled of lavender was laid across his brow. She stroked his head and hummed a soft, slow melody. Soon he was sound asleep once more.

-oo000oo-

Dilly was saddlesore. The plowpony was never meant for riding. She pulled up alongside the Bounder. "Well, Bil Lightfoot, how soon'll we get there?"

"We should be at Northcleft by dawn or a little after, Mrs. Greenhand." The Bounder worried what her husband would say to him, him letting her come along. But she wouldn't be left behind, and that fool Shirriff had put her back up so when he found out Hob and that Man had gone to warn the Squire even though he'd said the warning was naught but fever dreams. Shirriff Rob was full of his own importance, he was! But then Bil had come along to say that the report was true after all. Two of his fellow bounders had seen them awful creatures. Now as many of the North Bounders as Bil could find had been set to go north of the Brandywine, stay out of sight, and do their best to set snares and traps to slow the goblins down.  But if they couldn't slow them down, they'd be at the River sometime late tomorrow.

At least the Ranger's warning had come in time to evacuate Greenfields. Anyone not part of the local muster had been sent to flee away to Oatbarton. Livestock had been freed--with any luck the goblins would spend a few days there, looting and chasing down and hunting the various sheep, cows, ponies and so forth. He hated to think of the hardship it would cause, but better the animals than the hobbits.

Bil looked to the East; dawn was coming, and they were approaching Long Cleeve.

 


End file.
